


The Woman and Her Game

by Shooting_StarI



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Denial of Feelings, F/M, First Time, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 23:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17314133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shooting_StarI/pseuds/Shooting_StarI
Summary: My personal take onto the first sex of Vergil, and that annoying, gorgeous woman who happens to be a mother to his son.





	The Woman and Her Game

**_With special dedication to Kat_ **

The thick, leather-covered book crashed noisily with the cold, hard floor. Vergil’s pupils were wide, his body frozen in half-motion.

 _That book had been his latest prey; he had tracked it down and hunted it, eliminating the worthless obstacles that dared to occur on his way. Knowing its potential value, he had brought it straight to the hideout in Fortuna; from the first moment he had taken it to his hands, he knew he had to show it to her. Her eyes had lit up like torches, when he stepped inside the small attic, with the latest treasure exposed in his hands. She had tossed aside the notes she was holding and hastily marched towards him, meeting his steps halfway. They had plopped onto the edge of hard, humble bed, and immediately begun to work. He entrusted himself with deciphering ancient prescriptions, while she thoroughly analysed every piece of information, scribbling down the possibilities they could work through.  
_ _Nothing was out of the ordinary in that dark, stuffy chamber, another night passing at the laborious activities..._

Her lips touched his so suddenly, in the middle of his sentence. Every thought he had inside his mind turned into blank darkness, her skin, so close to his eyes, all of a sudden barely recognizable. The secure grip of his hands softened, making the precious books rattle through the quietness. Vergil’s now empty fists clenched, as the heat of her lips burned its shape into his own. Long eyelashes almost touched his face, as she fluttered her eyes open; moving moved back slowly, just for a few inches allowed him to see those big, green eyes, sparkling over her reddened cheeks, as she glanced at him with emotions and questions Vergil couldn’t even name properly. He quickly fixed his gaze onto her throat, noticing that shuddered breath she has taken. Clutching his knuckles to the point where they have turned white, he was hit with a wave of incomprehensive anger, his mind lost.

The shift in his aura made her tremble, and, as she cursed herself internally, the unspoken words already digged a hole inside her scared heart. She has pushed herself… straight to the verge of death. That quick, painfully obvious realization made her eyelids fall softly. She might have been anxious, but him being the one to end her miserable life was like a remedy to her thumping heart. She would rather have him to be the one to take the essence of her short, unneeded life.

Vergil kept staring at her, an unknown void falling on him along with her closing eyes. His back tensed and his eyebrows furrowed, as she did nothing but nervously pluck the laced hem of her dress. When her face kept remaining calm, Yamato’s presence behind boy’s back was like a blessing — simple and perfectly fitting at that moment.

Hearing that elegant, metallic sound, another shiver run down her spine; pressing her lips tightly together, she patiently waited for the upcoming pain, the last, grateful prayer dancing around her mind.

The tip of Yamato’s blade was almost touching the thin skin on the base of her delicate neck. Vergil’s eyes were focused on her trachea while the swift motion of cutting her throat open was completely stuck, somewhere in his arm. He knew how to do it, and he has done it countless times with the fear-evoking precision; it was an elementary move, smooth and easy, a simple, fast cut through the air, straight towards the target…!

But beside that those small traces of nervousness, she didn't seem to fear him. She wasn’t screaming or running away, not to mention that “a possible attack” from her was a ridiculous concept whatsoever. Vergil’s nails digged into the sword’s hilt, when a slightest shadow crossed her face for a split second. _Was that...expectancy?  
_A wave of hot, stinging rage filled his veins anew, as he kept searching for the signs of mockery in that unreadable face of hers.

_If she was making a fool of him, he would make her crave the death itself._

The grip on his sword soon turned painful, his patience fading away faster than he could actually register its presence.  
“Look at me,” Vergil growled aggressively, not recognizing the strange pressure building in the back of his mind. Her breath hitched; her glossy eyes opened only when he repeated the command. Yamato’s steel was now cold on her skin, while he waited for her face to taunt him again, so he could finally slash her neck open.  
But there was no change in that green mirrors. He may have been potining his deadly weapon at that fragile body, yet she stubbornly looked at him with layers and layers of…!

A fool. She kept making a fool of himl. A mindless, meaningless fool, with no ability to take the matters in his hands.

The impatience in Vergil’s voice, followed by his sword by her skin, has driven her into her own trap even further, the fear for the unknown shadowing her mind once again. The death was close, preparing the judgment for her soul on the tip of boy’s blade. Swallowing hardly, she dragged her eyes across the steel blade, directly towards Vergil’s face.

A tempest of electricity bursted between them in the very second their eyes had connected; those blue orbs were sharp but lost, the feelings behind them liquidy and unstable. The more she stared into them, the deeper she seemed to drown.

She wanted to come closer, to shorten the distance he had put between them. Blinking a few times, she lowered her face from his fierce sight, just to glance at the weapon that was dividing them. When a barely noticeable twitch, just by the base of his sword glimpsed in the corner her eye, she considered it as a first sign of madness. Carefully, she eyed the length of the sword once again. It had to be delusions, pre-death hallucinations or else, because...  
_the sword in his hands could not have been shaking…, right?_

Vergil’s mind was an unbearable mess; he couldn’t stand that strange feeling that mixed and softened the anger inside him, making his chest pound like a drum, fogging his vision and natural instincts, _certainly not because of her eyes._ He hissed through his teeth, disgusted in himself, as he no longer could hold the sword still.

Taking a labored breath, she lifted her arm to meet her judge halfway; the very tip of her pointing finger touched the freezingly cold surface of the blade. The slightly sharper movement of the sword made her feel faint for a split second but when the air of reality was still lifting her chest, she convinced herself to continue. Her skin glided smoothly over the metal, the anxiety increasing along with her so-called confidence, until the stain of her skin covered a small route from the tip to the base of it. As if an incandescent iron touched him directly onto the skin, Vergil threw away the item, just before she could reach the hilt of it; the metal clattered somewhere on the chamber’s floor, forgotten and rejected. The cold sweat run through his back and shoulders while shallow, rapid breaths kept escaping his lips. The unexpected movement has taken her off guard at first, but a single glance at his face made the realization sink into her mind.

_He had never felt anything like this before._

Carefully, as if dealing with extremely nervous and delicate species of some wild animal, she lifted her hand again, stretching it towards his face. Her fingers landed and curved around his left cheek as swiftly, as if she had been doing it for years before.

The instinct Vergil has been using so frequently and undoubtedly, was now scratching his insides underneath his skin, the intensity of strangeness slowly reaching the most dangerous of its levels. Despite that unknown heat, he couldn’t bring himself to stop her, letting her hand cup his cheek and rub it softly with her palm and fingers. He should have been furious, like had been just few moments ago. _He should have been,_ but that feeling had already faded, covering his rationality with a thick layer of fog.    
Her lashes fluttered over her sparkling eyes now and then, certainly not able to cover the concern in her shy gaze. Vergil couldn’t point the exact moment he got mesmerized by those eyes; he had seen them so many times, every time feeling something more and more urgent inside his stomach, something so foreign and powerful, that he had to step away from her, something that...

He had to do it, he had to—

“You seem cold…”, her voice was quiet, almost faint. The sensation on his cheek was only fueling the fire inside him like a waterfall of gasoline.

Cold. A hellish shiver run down his spine, when her carelessly caring eyes scanned his trembling form.

_Cold._

A girlish squeal escaped her lips, when he pushed her down onto the mattress.

_Cold!_

His lips crashed with hers, his tongue forcefully pushing its way into her mouth.

_Cold, cold, cold!_

He has never felt it before; that fire was unreadable, unfamiliar and painful. That pain was foreign, different from what a physical confrontation could leave on his body; it burned endlessly, like a torch. _He wasn’t cold, there was a hell raging inside him._ It wasn’t a wound that he could easily recover from, it wasn’t a enemy he could surpass in the matter of seconds, it was a _feeling._ And it was too hot, too absorbing and too uncontrollable, to cover it with any medicine. She moaned slightly, as he almost forcefully moved his hands around her body; there was something building in him, something he couldn’t understand, that was making him act despite his inner chaos. Their lips crashed so often, the upcoming bruises already forming under her skin. His hands gripped her shoulders strongly, his naked teeth gliding over her simple dress, tearing the fabric apart here and there, but never touching her actual skin.

“Angel of Darkness...,” she finally managed to breathe out after failing a few times. He straight away digged his fingers into her shoulders, “..what are you afraid of?”

Vergil’s form froze above her, the simple question hitting him like a red comet. _He? Afraid?  
_ The loud growl rumbled in his chest as his body tensed, the state of alert reflected in his eyes. _He feared nothing and none!_

Hissing through her teeth, she counted as ten sharp nails bruised the skin on her shoulders one after another. Wincing visibly, her sight focused on boy’s angered expression, the familiar sight of sharpness covering her soul with dark canvas. Yet, her heart has won once again and, dancing with the death for _certainly not the las_ t time that night, she raised her hand and brushed it over the small portion of the uncovered skin on Vergil’s hand.

Another electrifying spasm shook boys body and he instinctively grabbed her petitte hand, pinning it into the bed, just beside her head.

“Stop this games, woman!” He barked, threatening tones swimming in his voice, while unnaturally sharp teeth kept glistening inside his mouth. “You are toying with the devil himself!”

Her glossy lips parted, as she watched his clothed chest rise and fall with every laboured breath. She was far from executing any logical train of thought, far from even being aware of something other beside the man, who trapped her on that stuffy, hot cage.  She wasn’t being able to think and, being honest with herself, she was not willing to.  
“Is this a game…?” The question was so soft, almost unnoticeable in that ocean of heat, and Vergil could have easily missed it, if it wasn’t followed by her next words:  
“If this is a game, then please… kill me.”

His knees suddenly turned into a jelly; it was his solution, the safe way out of that madness. Take her life, take her essence, take her everything. Do that, and the heat would be gone, _gone_ ! The grip on her wrist was stronger that it should have been, causing her to groan miserably. He noticed a reflection of himself in that big, green eyes.  _A game?_

Their lips met each other again, strongly and passionately, a faint taste of blood spreading across their tongues. She smelled so pleasantly, so lovingly… His teeth on her neck were a natural consequence of matters, as if they were designed to fit in the crook of her neck, just above her collarbone.  

“Oh! Wait…,” she whispered, when he traced the hem of the dress, just above her bust. “Wait, please…”

The boy barely paid attention to her words, slipping his gloved hand under her dress.

She gripped the fabric of his coat, attempting to catch his attention.

“Please, not like this…”

“It’s you who started this game, woman,” he replied harshly, tearing her stocking with his claw, “I do not intend to give up.”

 

An expected shiver run down her spine, when Vergil’s fingers rubbed her thighs higher than she could have ever possibly dreamed about. His lips wandered around her neck and upper chest; every time the boy was almost reaching the forbidden regions of her body, the damn fabric was always there, like a uncrossable border he couldn’t pass over. He smacked his lips impatiently.

“Wait, don't tear it up…” the girl pleaded, reaching towards him. Smiling sweetly over his confused gaze, she slode her fingers between his shiny, smooth hair, combing it tenderly. Certainly surprised with his silent reaction, she raised her upper body, pushing them both into a sitting position. Her hands quickly found the hidden buttons on the side of her dress and forced it to surrender under the touch. As it sat  lifelessly on her body, she untangled her slim limbs from the fabric, her skin glowing with omnipresent blush. Vergil’s mouth dried, his jaws clenched and tense.

“You don't need to be so fierce, the Darkest of Angels…” she chuckled, brushing his ascot, “I'm not gonna run away...” Delicate, fragile fingers slid the heavy coat out of his shoulders, moving down to his vest. Each unfastened button caused Vergil’s chest to inflate significantly, the foreign skin brushing over his own.   
He observed her moves very attentively during those torturous moments, desperately searching for any traces of boosting spells, hypnotizing witchcraft or demonic power, _anything_  that could sell out her true intentions.

But he found nothing deceitful in that long, brown lashes, nothing sinister in that soft, round face or in that copper-brown curls. There had to be something and he refused to believe otherwise. She would not trick him, not him. Not the Prince of Demons, not The Dark Angel, not the—

“Son of Sparda?” The proud that has swollen inside him bursted like a bubble of soap. She said it so easily, so naturally, turning that heavy burden into meaningless words, _looking at him with that sparkle in that green eyes._

 

***

The silence was hot, torn by her quiet moans and rustles of the bedding around them.  
She smelled like sunshine and a strong sense of duty, sweetly writhing under his body. He was silent and unfair, brushing her skin too much and in places that were forbidden to him. She moaned when he brushed her neck, her breasts, her stomach…

“Son of Sparda…!” Her plea was urgent and fearful, dripping with arousal.

 _Arousal_ , the word that Vergil has found somewhere along the way. It was the arousal that made her tremble, the arousal made her flushed, and the _arousal_ had turned her the way she was: naked, unprotected and vulnerable.

Gasping loudly, she covered her womb with her pettite hands.

“Son of Sparda, I’m still a…” Turning into even a darker shade of red, she swallowed the last word, visibly embarrassed.

“Do not be unreasonable, woman,” Vergil spoke firmly, taking a hold of her fragile wrists, “you have already shown me a lot. It is not a time to back away.”

His own words rang in his head a few seconds later, when, having moved away her hands from the way, his ability to speak was taken away.

She was beautiful, uncovered and glistening, blushing in such a lascivious way, absolutely different from the usual priestess’s modesty. Her hands brought him close, blurred kisses filling the space between his touches and breaths.

They were close, too close to be close to sanity; she had no idea when Vergil has found himself pressed to her skin, inches away from embracing her completely.  

“Son of—” The words died on her lips, when his blue eyes burned their way with desperation towards hers, she has finally acknowledged her decision.   
_She was dead anyway._

Vergil stopped just a few inches away from violating her completely, scanning her heavenly face once again. If that woman was crazy enough to keep her camouflage till now, surely that was the time she would _have to_ give up. And he was ready to savor it.  She stuttered on her words, cutting them halfway, much to his satisfaction.    
_Give up, woman._  

“Vergil…”

Unfortunately, he was the one to break. 


End file.
